


Send It Straight To Gold

by thewinterspy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Stitching up wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all of the time.</p><p>"I'm trying though, you know? I'm getting better at it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send It Straight To Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Anna prompted a triple dialogue thingy. “#42: I swear it was an accident. “#37: “Wanna dance?” #32: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” Can you spot all of them?

Natasha took a generous gulp of the flask before rolling the top back on. If her partner thought anything of the attention she paid to drinking tonight, he didn’t bother her with mother henning. She earned a bit of alcohol in her system after the fuck-up of a night.

 

"Is it done yet?" she huffed, turning her head so that he was face to face with a red fluffball.

 

"You know, you could always look." He said, raising his eyebrows at her, despite the fact she couldn’t see. His hands remained steady as he inserted the needle in her flesh again.

 

"I hate looking at it, you know that." She whined, rolling her head so that it fell over the back of the chair.

 

"Okay okay okay, sit still, you’ll mess it-" he gasped dramatically, " _Oh_ my _god!_ "

 

"What?" Natasha’s head spun around, looking for anything worrisome in the cut that slashed into her arm. But she realized his trick too late, and cursed loudly in some language he didn’t know (yet), before letting him know in their own precious, fragile tongue, "Oh, fuck you, fuck you, that’s so bad. Why would you make me look at it?"

 

Even with all her shouting, she was grinning too, knowing a good trick when she saw one.

 

"You always make it way too easy," he murmured, focusing on finishing the stitches.

 

"You shouldn’t even pull that shit, this is your fault."

 

"I said sorry. And I swear, it was an accident.” He said sincerely.

 

"An accident?"

 

"Cross my heart," he vowed, "I missed the mark just so-"

 

"You never miss."

 

He huffed, “Okay, well, you try shooting a target at that range while three guys are going at you.”

 

"I could totally do that."

 

"Yeah, I-" he jabbed at her other arm with the needle, lightly enough that it didn’t leave a mark, "-call-" Jab. "-bullshit."

 

"Would you stop that?!" Nat whined, pushing at him. He grabbed her elbow, keeping her from ruining all his hard work on her arm.

 

"I will if you sit still." He flinched with the needle again. She swatted at his hand.

 

"You’re so mean," she teased.

 

"I try," he replied drily. He worked for another minute or so, finishing up patiently. Despite all their mocking and teasing, the two had mastered the art of sitting still, of handling blood and wounds without fuss. That always was something that intrigued him about his partner. Never fussing when it was important, but the racket she would make over little things like needles…

 

"Why do you hate needles? They’re just little knives. You like knives," he pointed out as he picked up the gauze.

 

"I don’t hate them. I’m afraid of them," she said as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse.

 

"Yeah, now. When it’s convenient."

 

Nat shrugged with her good shoulder, “I guess it makes up for all the things I should be scared of, but I’m not.”

 

Clint turned it over in his head for a moment.

 

"Hang on, so you fake being freaked out?" he frowned, not getting it.

 

"I guess," she repeated numbly, bored by the topic, or deflecting, "I mean, it freaks people out when you’re not freaked out."

 

"Maybe. So do you just make up little fears for everyone?"

 

His partner frowned over it for a second, before answering, “Well, yeah. I guess so. Most people think I can’t stand spiders. Just for irony, really.”

 

He nodded. Everyone gets a different version of Nat. She nevers tells anyone the truth. It must feel safer that way. Besides, he’d heard it before from her, in a way. _The truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all of the time._

 

"You don’t have to lie to me about stuff like that. You don’t have to hate needles," he lifted her arm to wrap the bandage around.

 

"Well, what would we talk about, if not me not hating needles and then making a joke out of it?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"We’d have _plenty_ to talk about," he insisted with a high voice.

 

Nat grinned, “Oh yeah?

 

"Yeah."

 

"Such as?"

 

"So much. The fact that we totally just did a kick-ass mission, even though I kind-of-sort-of shot you. How much you secretly think needles are little knives, because you never denied sharing that thought. Like that-" he suddenly leaned over the table, cranking the volume up on the radio as one of his favourites ended, "The fact that Shelley from the 9 Show just dropped Fall Out for some news shit. That’s horse-bullshit right there. Are you kidding, we always have stuff to talk about. We’re gonna have stuff to talk about when we’re 80 and floating around in our cool hover wheelchair things,"

 

Nat laughed, “I don’t think people make it to 80 in our line of work.”

 

He didn’t know what to say to that. He grimaced at his finishing touches to the wrapped bandage, then sat back. He regarded her for a moment, as the radio correspondent’s voice faded out and a slow piano-violin duet began. Finally, he knocked twice on the table and got to his feet quickly. He tucked his chair, and held out his hand to her.

 

”Wanna dance?”

 

She stared at him incredulously, “… Dance.”

 

"Yep."

 

"You want to dance. Right now."

 

"Damn straight."

 

"What’s the occasion?"

 

"We’re dying before hover wheelchairs come out."

 

Still staring at him in bemusement and disbelief, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her hands fell to his waist, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His fingers laced together lazily behind her neck.

 

"Didn’t know you could dance," she murmured over the opening to the first chorus.

 

"Not a bit. So we’re gonna stand here and sway. Like awkward teens at a school dance. Or whatever," he explained, "We’re gonna be awkward teens."

 

"Yeah, we’re doing a good job. I think actually we’re supposed to switch. My hands-" she stepped back for a moment, and their hands traded positions. Her hips fit perfectly against the curve of his palm, "There. Like that."

 

"Just like that," he parroted softly.

 

She hid her smile by ducking her head, timid under the intimate look he gave her unabashed. Finally, she tilted her head back up, her nose wrinkling as she showed her shy smile to him. He smiled back, nudging his forehead against hers. Her head found a crook to nestle against, between her arm and his cheek.

 

"I do trust you," she whispered after the long silence, "I’m just not good at telling the truth."

 

He acknowledged her with a hum, his arms wrapping around her just a little tighter.

 

"I’m trying though, you know? I’m getting better at it."

 

"I know, sweetheart," he turned his head to kiss her temple, "I trust you, you know that."

 

He could feel her throat work, before she twisted away. After a pause, she nodded, “Yeah. It’s just… I mean, I never lie directly. And I tell you what I think you should know, but I never know what I’ve forgotten to tell you. It’s not that I’m lying, it’s that I’m not telling the truth. I don’t know what questions you haven’t asked. I just know I want to give you the answers.”

 

"Mm hm," He got that. He understood that, "Well…"

 

She must have felt his heart, god knows it was hammering out of his chest, because she lifted her head to look him in the eye, “Clint?”

 

"I was…"

 

Screwitfuckitwhythehellnotokjustaskjustaskshewantsyoutoaskofuckingkayalright.

 

"Do you love me?"

 

Her jaw tightened in a way that had him convinced he was about to get punched. In his head, he was already apologizing, telling her to forget about it, she didn’t have to answer, it was okay, all cool with him, whatever she wanted- but it didn’t make it to his mouth. Just quiet breathing, trying not to hyperventilate.

 

”I think I’m in love with you,” she said, and he saw her screaming at him to understand, “and I’m terrified-“

 

He closed the space between them, clutching her to him as he kissed her, relief pouring off of him.

 

"Yeah, I know that," he laughed against her mouth, "I know that. Fucking terrifying, it’s fucking terrifying, god I love you too."

 

"Clint-" she tried, but words fell short as they pressed their lips together again.

 

He murmured the declaration over and over, his hands wandering her back, his mouth finding hers, her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, biting I love you into her skin as she let it out in a soft exhale.

 


End file.
